Birds in the Sky
by Chavva
Summary: Musings as the birds cut through the sky, unconcerned by the affairs of men. Sad -ish  but not angsty. OneShot. R&R.


_Hello everybody. Yes, I'm still working on **M****æ****re**. But I have this (ridiculously long) text document called where I put all of my ideas for FanFics as soon as they cross my mind and sometimes I skim through it to find a thought that won't let go. So this is yet another OneShot after **Breath**. It's sad, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!_

/~/

**Birds in the Sky**

The water was shimmering in the bright light of the sun, the rays bouncing off the crinkling surface throwing playful reflections at the leaves of the trees at the bank of the gigantic lake. Nothing but the busy humming of bees flying from one speck of colour to the other and the lazy breeze rustling through the rich treetops, fluttering, dancing rhythmically, swaying from one side to the other, could be heard. It smelled of ripe grass and moss, an earthy scent cool and soothing to the mind and of water that had been heated in the sun maybe for a little to long. Small waves were splashing against the stony shore, gurgling and laughing, telling one another stories of travels spent apart only to reunite in whirls and be drawn back into the big mass of blue by an invisible hand. Birds were cutting through the clear sky, their gazes directed into far remote regions of shimmering beauty, covered by mist, replenished by rain, dried by the biting sun. They crossed the land that laid beneath them that only they had seen in all its colourful dresses from an all revealing perspective, traced the sparkling streams of rivers, followed the serpentine roads of small brooks, barely visible from the air, but ever present. Their wings batting swiftly through the air they disturbed it ever so slightly, sending waves of wind on their way, down to the earth where they might change the course of history. But none of this stirred the hearts of those creatures so far removed from the daily going-ons of the surface. Neither feast nor war touched them as they celebrated their freedom in playful dances with their companions. They did not know the loneliness of men,, for all the inhabitants of heaven, the glittering stars, the radiant sun and the drifting clouds were loyal and ever present companions to their journeys. With the innate knowledge only they possessed they were able to read the tiny changes in the moods of nature, avoid its scorn and flourish in its joy. They could read the clues that were given to them by the earth so that they would never lose their way in the vast skies. Neither mountains nor ravines hindered their progress as they followed on their paths, drawn by forces of instinct they had no awareness of or cared to understand. They did not feel bliss but neither did they feel torment in their travels, taking in the flow of time into their tiny bodies as it came to them.

They were an existence as ancient as the landscape beneath them, mysterious and unfathomable to men who were crawling through it, looking up from time to time to pause and maybe feel a fraction of the vibrating wholesomeness surrounding them but never grasping it in its entirety.

At the same time as they were given the gift of thought and feeling they had lost their place as mere cogs in the big wheel spinning the earth around them and were now endlessly struggling against the eternal movement of the invisible gears pushing them along.

Just as shadows cannot exist without the presence of light and as there is no life without death, men had bought happiness with pain, truth with lie, paid for love with hatred, endured war for the sake of peace. Nothing in the universe exists without contrast, for it is only the negative that enables the positive, defines it into what it itself is not and moulds it into shape. Therefore can be no victory without loss, no good without evil, no being without not being.

Sometimes in moments of terror, when the night creeps into their minds, erasing the light and security of the day, men receive a passing glance at the absence of contrast and as unearthly as it is, they feel the pull of the roaring stream of the emptiness of non-existence that they call death. Because they can not understand being, the can not see the lack of it and so they avert their eyes and use their minds to fill the emptiness with space.

The silent figure at the bank of the lake knew all that as it watched a boat drift into the vast blue of the water, sending small ripples across the smooth surface. He had received the gift of knowledge beyond ordinary men and as it must be, he had at the same time paid the price of crushing loneliness not bearable to other men. He had wielded great power and succumbed to weakness, he had experienced hope and been shattered by failure.

For all the good deeds he had done by one person, he had been the bearer mayhem to another, for all the joy he had given, he had incurred terror.

He had been bound by the strongest ties of friendship and had seen them torn apart by the fiercest flames of hatred.

He had lived to know the most loyal of companions and seen him destroyed by the most powerful of enemies.

The man raised a hand as the boat continued its slow way to the middle of the lake, where it would remain, gingerly rocking in the movement of the waves. He muttered a few unintelligible words and looked on as small flames began eating away at the brittle planks of the vessel, first lazily, then increasingly hungry. Their ravenousness could not be stilled until the wood had been all but consumed, the charred boat and its valuable freight sinking slowly through azure mists into the depth of the water.

He stood there a long while musing on events long past, sometimes smiling to himself, sometimes as if he were to weep. Finally he turned his back and ascended a soft hill covered by trees and and grass.

Even though it was as if the same flames that had devoured the boat were ravishing his heart, he knew that they would burn out at some point. Because even though there is no light without darkness the opposite is also true and upon dusk, dawn always follows.

/~/

_**R&R**, guys, **R&R**, it goes straight to the creativity centre of my brain._

_Cheers, C._


End file.
